


Poisoned Blade

by JEAikman



Series: The Musketeers - prompts and one-shots [9]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt d'Artagnan, Hurt/Comfort, poisoned d'Artagnan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/pseuds/JEAikman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos and d'Artagnan were attacked by someone with a poisoned dagger who managed to nick d'Artagnan<br/>Porthos is completely not panicking.<br/>Except that the other two Musketeers are on patrol and Porthos doesn't actually know any physicians other than Aramis, and d'Artagnan is running out of time.</p><p>Someone on fanfiction.net wanted a poisoned d'Artagnan, and I wanted to focus on a character other than Athos caring for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Porthos was entirely at a loss as to what to do in this situation. Only _d'Artagnan_ could manage to get himself nicked by a poisoned dagger. The boy had been a magnet for trouble ever since he arrived, but nothing like _this_ had ever happened before.

And Athos and Aramis - the second of which would undoubtedly know what to do - were still not back from their patrol. It would be hours before they came back, and Porthos wasn't quite sure that this idiot had that long.

Porthos was no idiot, he knew that d'Artagnan would need a doctor, and fast. He was just so used to relying on Aramis that he had no idea where to find one. He was not panicking. Not in the slightest.

"P'thos?" He looked down at the boy in question, who he had just caught when he staggered backwards and fell into him. D'Artagnan was pale, and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow. His eyes were already looking glassy. Porthos's gut churned as he decided to take action.

"Come on, Gascon, I'm taking you back to Constance's, and then I'm going to find you a doctor." And with that he swept the boy easily up into his arms - and honestly, he hardly weighed anything. Had he been eating recently? If he had been more lucid, perhaps our young hero might have protested that he did not need to be carried like a swooning maiden - as it was, he was exhausted, and he didn't quite understand why.

 

Constance certainly hadn't expected Porthos to barge through her front door, carrying her lodger in his arms, and looking, by all counts, terrified.

"What's wrong?" She asked, rushing after him as he strode up the stairs to place d'Artagnan on the bed. If possible, he looked even paler than before, and his breath was getting raspy. Porthos didn't like the sound of that.

"Some bastard had a poisoned dagger and nicked him with it. Didn't notice until the idiot collapsed onto me." Constance nodded, and took charge of the situation.

"Right. Go and fetch some water and cloth. Keep him cool. I'm going to get Monsieur Joli, he lives close by." She paused, noticing how wary the Musketeer seemed. "I wouldn't let anyone I didn't trust near that boy, Porthos... I-  he's important to me." She admitted in a whisper, and at Porthos's nod, she practically sprinted to search for the physician.

 

And so now Porthos was left to deal with an ill and possibly dying d'Artagnan. He wasn't like the others - he'd seen enough death to know that you can't choose who it comes for. He accepted the possibility far more easily than Aramis or Athos would have - easily, but not readily. Though he wasn't as close to d'Artagnan as Athos seemed to be - which was odd in itself, but something had clearly happened when the Gascon had gone rushing back to find the man - but that did not mean he was not fond of the lad. He brightened the place up - even if it was by getting in more trouble than seemed possible for just one man.

He carefully wiped the boy's brow with the cold water, and found himself talking, just to fill the heavy silence that he felt in the air.

"Listen, kid. I know we don't talk all that much, and all I ever do is try to get you drunk at the pub and maybe even laugh at your idiocy sometimes. But... I'd care if you died. Especially on my watch. You know they would never forgive me - don't you? Well, Aramis might, eventually, since he wants to be a priest one day. But Athos isn't the type to forgive. And your Constance - because she is, you know. Yours. Well, she'd obviously kill me if I suggested in any way she belonged to anyone but herself, but you know what I mean. You both make such obvious bedroom eyes that it's a wonder her husband hasn't strangled you yet." He paused. D'Artagnan's fever seemed to have cooled a little, but his face was still twisted in pain, and his breathing still sounded harsh. There wasn't much he could do but wait and hope that this doctor knew how to work miracles. "I guess what I'm trying to say here kid is don't die. You're kind of the glue that's holding us messed up bastards together. We need you. And there are less _extreme_ ways of getting out of training-"

 

The door was flung open and Porthos praised his self-control that he managed to just look up and seem mildly irritated while in reality his heart had just about jumped out of his chest. He hadn't even heard them approach.

It was not the doctor, however, but the two other Musketeers.

"We ran into Madame Bonacieux when she was looking for the doctor. We rushed straight here. How is he?"

"His breathing's gotten worse. I've not been able to do much more than keep him cool. And even that's a challenge." Aramis nodded, biting his lip in his distraction. He examined the wound on the boy's arm, which looked awful now.

"I'll need to clean that. Go fetch some clean water."

"Not your errand boy" Porthos grumbled, but hurriedly did as he was bid. When he got back, Aramis took the bowl of water gratefully and began his work. D'Artagnan seemed to be growing steadily worse, and they didn't know what to do. Athos looked completely in shock - like he was losing a son, or a brother, or something.

"Aramis-" Porthos began, as a thought occurred to him. "Do you suppose that putting him in a cold bath might help more?" He asked. Aramis frowned, and sighed angrily.

" _Dieu!_ I should have thought of that. It will keep the fever down, hopefully." He checked the boy's pulse "and perhaps it will slow his heart rate. It is too fast, too thready. If the poison goes through his entire system..." He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. "Well, we need to buy him as much time as we can." They all nodded agreement, and Athos went to fill the bath whilst Porthos lifted the boy with the utmost care, lowering him into the water as gently as he could. It was worrying that the boy hardly seemed to react to the change in temperature, but there was little else they could do - it was up to fate, and Constance finding the physician, now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not satisfied with this in the slightest, but meh.  
> the whole hugging then kiss thing was inspired by merlin s1e4, if it wasn't obvious.  
> I tried to have Athos be absolutely awful to Porthos before d'Art got all worked up but it just didn't want to happen

As soon as the physician arrived and was ushered into the small room, he uncorked a small vial, and tilted d'Artagnan's head back to pour in the liquid. There was a tense silence in which no one dared to breathe as they waited for any sort of reaction to the antidote. It didn't seem to take effect, and the boy slumped on the bed, unmoving.

"No..." Athos breathed out, his voice trembling as much as his hands as he knelt down next to the boy. "No, you can't... you can't be dead. D'Artagnan. Please, please no." Constance came to his side and buried her head in his chest to cover her tears. For a moment, there was only silence, in which Aramis had bowed his head to pray, and Porthos looked on in shock. This was his fault. He should have looked after him better. He should have. He-

 

His thoughts were cut off as they heard a gasp of air which came from the bed. D'Artagnan was alive, d'Artagnan was breathing.

"'Thos... y'r old enough t' be her dad. Hands off." The older man let out a choked laugh, and Constance pulled d'Artagnan up to kiss him hard on the mouth.

"That's revenge for all those times you kissed me without my permission. Then nearly dying without my permission." She scolded him, but he had a dazed look on his face.

"So does this mean I'm allowed to kiss you from now on?"

"Shut up, you shameless flirt." She admonished, but her heart wasn't in it. D'Artagnan wasn't dead. Thank god.

"You gave us all a scare, young man" Aramis told him. "We thought we'd lost you." D'Artagnan looked up then, and he saw that Athos was glaring at Porthos, who was looking, if he was honest, like hell at this moment, and it didn't take him long to figure out what the Athos was thinking.

 

"Don't you dare, Athos." He warned, sitting himself up despite Constance's protests. Athos looked back at him, shocked at the way the boy had spoken, as if there was no room for argument - as if he was giving Athos an _order._ "You blame Porthos for this, I won't forgive you. It wasn't his fault. I made a stupid mistake and left myself open for attack."

"But you nearly died." Athos protested, only earning himself a glare from the young Gascon.

"And how exactly is that any different from any other day? We risk our lives every day for king and country. Porthos trusted that I could hold my own - something which I am thankful for, because unlike the pair of _you_ " He indicated to Athos and Aramis, "he doesn't bloody well try to mollycoddle me. He does his part and trusts me to do mine, and if I can't, then it's no one's fault but my own. So if you give Porthos any trouble for this, God help me but I will take his side." He stopped glaring and talking for a moment while he had a slight coughing fit, which, though it panicked the Musketeers, the physician assured them was quite normal, though he told them that they should stop stressing out his patient and leave him in peace, perhaps with the lady of the house to calm him down from his fit of temper, but, though weakly, d'Artagnan protested.

 

"Porthos can stay." The other Musketeers nodded reluctantly and let him be. Porthos hadn't moved at all, was just standing, staring in shock.

"Hey... come on now, big guy, I'm-" he paused "well, okay, I'm not fine, but I will be." Porthos sat down on the far edge of the boy's bed.

"But you nearly died. I should have looked after you better, i-"

 

"Please tell me you're not going to start being all ridiculously overprotective now. Look, what happened was awful and it hurt like hell, I'm not going to lie. But it wasn't your fault. Porthos, the only person that is to blame is the man with that knife." The other man's eyes lit up in something like anger. Good, d'Artagnan thought. It meant he could focus on something other than self-loathing. That was a state of being that only really suited Athos. Speaking of which.

 

"Don't you think you should let them back in now?" He asked, but d'Artagnan shook his head, meeting Porthos's eyes with a grin.

"Nah, I think we can let them suffer." Porthos chuckled warmly, and the boy soon fell asleep. He felt such relief at seeing the steady rise and fall of his chest, and, feeling like, despite what the Gascon had already said, that he might be forgiven for a little mollycoddling, he tucked him into bed like a child, before telling the others they could come in. They'd all suffered enough that night already, after all, and they deserved some peace of mind.

 

So they all spent the night in d'Artagnan's room, keeping watch over him, as if, when they looked away, but even for a moment, he would be gone. They all made a silent agreement to keep a closer watch on him in future, Porthos especially - but it would have to be subtle, so that d'Artagnan wouldn't notice and hate him for it.


End file.
